


Somerset

by Sierra Roo (SoySierra)



Series: Temptation and punishment [3]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drama, Dubious Consent, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoySierra/pseuds/Sierra%20Roo
Summary: It was impossible for him to be oblivious to the tension that occurred when they both shared the same space. There was a certain anticipation, a certain electricity in the air that Uthred had only felt with enemies and with the people who later became his lovers.It all started in Somerset.This story can be read as the prequel to "Temptation and Punishment"
Relationships: Alfred the Great/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Series: Temptation and punishment [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939432
Comments: 26
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was not planning to write this prequel. But you know what? You are right, we deserved to know the details of that mythical first encounter between Alfred and Uhtred. So enjoy! The comments and kudos make my little heart happy!

The flour is everywhere, not only does it cover almost the entirety of the table where he works but it has fallen to the ground and is on his person, on his hands, on his face and even on the tunic that covers his stomach after having brought his hands to his belly in unconscious gestures.  
  
Alfred is oblivious to the mess he has caused. His attention is on the loaves he has made with so much effort. He is not sure how long they take to cook. Because of that he forces himself not to take his eyes off them while they cook in the clay oven. The fatigue weighs on his eyes, his back reproaches him for the effort made to knead, his body is tired after so many days of insomnia.

When he thinks they are ready, he removes them from the oven being careful not to drop them. His fingers lightly touch the crust, assessing its doneness.  
  
“Lord?”  
  
Uhtred was patrolling around when he noticed light coming from one of the huts. He has approached thinking that it was a servant or another warrior in charge of the night watch, but the vision he receives is extremely curious. The King of Wessex covered in flour, bent over what appear to be strange shapeless buns.  
  
“Ah Uthred, it's your guard. I'd forgotten. ”Alfred looks around the place, momentarily speechless.  
  
“I think they went well this time. I am not an expert, of course. But I remember once I saw one of the castle maids do them. I think Iseult will be pleased after having burned the previous loaves.”  
  
Uhtred observes him carefully, the paleness in his face, the marked dark circles under his eyes, the state of his clothes and the erratic speech keep him from the version of the king that he met that first day in Winchester.  
  
“Lord, it's late, you should ...”

“Ah yes, yes.”The king answers but does not move.  
  
"Two warriors have left my service today." He confesses suddenly. His gaze lost in one of the corners of the room.  
  
Uhtred closes his eyes. A few days ago they had managed to save the heir to the crown, but even that had not caused desertions to diminish in the camp. The spirits in the face of the Danish invasion did not improve.  
  
“I knew them. They were good men. Loyal. ”He sighs, his attention back to the misshapen buns. “I can't even blame them. ”  
  
“Lord”  
  
Uthred feels an intense emotion growing in him. No. Alfred of Wessex couldn't think that. Since they had arrived in Somerset, Alfred felt more and more vulnerable and it caused an inexplicable disturbance to grow within him.  
  
But neither could he find the right words to calm his guilt and insecurities. Alfred felt like an inadequate leader. In those moments the crown weighed on his head and he well knew he could do nothing about it. He had already learned from his father and Ragnar that ruling brought glory but also a very particular loneliness.  
  
“Lord.” He calls him again to get his attention, to at least get him out of that course of thought.  
  
“Can I try one?”  
  
Alfred turns his attention to him. Suddenly it is as if he was aware of his presence. Confusion is reflected on his face, before he understands.  
  
"Oh, sure." He says, handing him one of the buns and taking one for himself.  
  
The bread is covered in flour and when Uthred split it, he notices how areas inside are still raw. He takes it to his mouth without hesitation.  
  
“It's good.”  
  
"Really?" The hope staining the king's question is so glaring that Uhtred feels the sudden urge to hug him. Alfred brings his own bread to his mouth, a scowl of disgust quickly crossing his features.  
  
"No." Uhtred replies, smiling as he puts the bread aside.  
  
“This only proves that you have no other destiny than to be king.”  
  
Alfred brings his arm to his mouth to hide his smile, in his hands the rest of the inedible bread.  
  
*  
  
The strong sun of that day makes the insects invade the swamp with their sounds. The atmosphere is humid and heavy. Uhtred watches from afar as Hild and Iseult converse with the queen as she feeds her baby. Queen Aelswith's attention has turned completely to the boy whose fate was so close to death. Uhtred is pleased at the unexpected camaraderie that has settled between them, but deep down he fears it will leave the king too lonely.  
  
"He's there again." Leofric surprises him by sitting down heavily next to him. Uhtred puts down the sword he's sharpening for a moment to watch him. He knows he means Alfred.  
  
“He hasn't slept in days. I thought that after the prince ...” The warrior continues with an intense expression of concern on his face. “We've been here for weeks. He must have given the order to patrol the surroundings, to assess the best way to meet the armies of Wessex ..”  
  
"He did it.”  
  
Uhtred looks for the figure of the king. He soon finds him, his body sticking out of the reeds in the blazing sun. Beocca is next to him, but judging by the priest's weary steps on his return, his words have not been successful.  
  
“He did but they haven't come back. If they are dead or have abandon him, he cannot know. Either option is poisoning his thoughts.”  
  
Leofric, spit on the ground. His frustration is almost palpable.

“He should sleep. Rest and reserve energy for what is coming. If our king cannot think, we will be dead.”  
  
Uthred wishes he could find reassuring words but he doesn't have them. He knows deep down that Leofric is right.  
  
*  
  
That night he finds the king sitting outside his hut. His gaze lost in the dark horizon, his cheeks flushed from the afternoon sun. His appearance is increasingly haggard. Uhtred sighs.  
  
"The nights are different here." He announces when he takes a seat next to him. "The air is different, the stillness, the peace ..."  
  
“The insects.” Uhtred protests, swating a mosquito on his arm.  
  
“Ah yes, the insects are a nuisance.” The monarch whispers with some amusement.  
  
Neither of them says anything more for a few minutes. After a while, Uhtred decides to try.  
  
“Lord, you should rest. Get some sleep ...”  
  
"Has Father Beocca asked you to talk to me?" He asks, still looking ahead. "Or maybe Leofric?"  
  
"With all due respect, it's not something I can't think of for myself, Lord," he says with intention. "You are worrying everyone."  
  
Alfred watches him briefly. That expression that reveals nothing but that Uhtred knows so well. He has offended him.  
  
“You ask me to rest when the people of Winchester suffer under the Danes, to rest when those around me depend on me to protect them, to rest not knowing if when I open my eyes I will find myself alone...”  
  
He stops. He has said too much. It is a product of exhaustion, Uhtred knows, but that sudden revelation gives him a better understanding of one of the king's innermost fears. Alfred shifts uncomfortably in his seat. For a while he doesn't say more.  
  
“Leave me alone, Uhtred.”  
  
“I will be here, Lord.”  
  
Alfred turns to him. He does not understand.  
  
“I'll be here while you rest. I will be by your side all the time you need. I will not leave. It is a promise.”  
  
Deep confusion stains the king's expression. For a second, it looks like he's going to say something but then he seems to think better.  
  
"It is not appropriate of me to ask you that, Uhtred."  
  
The warrior stands up, the confident smile, so characteristic of his person, on his face.  
  
“No, it's not Lord. That is why I am offering myself.”  
  
They argue a bit more but this time the gods are on his side. Perhaps it is due to the fact that Uhtred has responded to the king's innermost fear, or perhaps it is due to the boredom resulting from debating the same thing over and over again ..  
  
Anyway, Alfred agrees to rest for a few hours while Uhtred stands guard next to him.  
  
*  
  
The barely pronounced cheekbones, the delicate shape of his nose, the fine strands of his hair scattered on the pillow ...  
  
Uhtred finds himself admiring in detail the features of the sleeping monarch.  
  
It is not exactly a new situation for him. From day one his feelings towards the Saxon king have oscillated between hitting him and fucking him. In fact, Uhtred is sure that had he been a Danish leader, their relationship would have already taken one of the two paths.  
  
Uthred looks around the king's hut with an amused air. Resolving their problems in those ways would undoubtedly save the other all diplomatic politics and would also serve to relieve tension between the two.  
  
Ah, because yes ...

It was impossible for him to be oblivious to the tension that occurred when both shared the same space. There was a certain anticipation, a certain electricity in the air that Uthred had only felt with enemies and with the people who later became his lovers.  
  
The problem was that Alfred was not inclined for either option, he would not fight with him because that would mean lowering himself to his level and he would not fuck him because of his religious convictions.  
  
He was a simple man, but Alfred was not. His world was full of strategies, plans and politics. He would never choose a course of action that purposely endangered his kingdom, leaving the Dane in a limbo of uncertainty about how to behave.  
  
That led to his biggest problem. Those days in Somerset had revealed how much he appreciated him. A feeling that went beyond lust, the satisfaction of the moment so common in his people.  
  
No, what he felt for Alfred transcended his own will. It had made him betray his people, the family he had considered his, Brida and everything he believed about himself as a Dane. A few days with Alfred had been enough to turn his entire world upside down, to swear allegiance to him and to know intimately that he was not only with him because of his word but also because of his heart.  
  
What he felt for him made him remain at that time in a hut in the middle of a swamp as a guardian of his rest and not escape as so many other warriors had done fearing their imminent death.  
  
To be continue...


	2. Chapter 2

His senses are awakening little by little. First, the sound of insects, the smell of damp earth, the slight discomfort when feeling his warm body, the hot air burst into his sleep ...  
  
His consciousness is gaining ground and brings him slowly back to the waking world. And with it the worries. Fear for his kingdom and his loved ones once again fill his thoughts. He knows that he has fallen asleep, that exhaustion has finally overcome him ...  
  
Uhtred  
  
His mind suddenly reminds him of the events before falling asleep.  
  
 _I'll be here, Lord._  
  
Uhtred's voice echoes in his thoughts. He had requested to stay by his side during his break. Almost instantly, an irrational fear grows within him. The Dane has made him a promise and he has believed him. But what would happen if when he opened his eyes Uhtred was not there? What would happen if when he returned completely to the real world he found that he was no longer by his side? That he had abandoned him like so many other warriors. What then would happen to his dream of a united England?  
  
Pain pricks his interior at the thought of that scene. His hand instinctively holding his belly to try to calm himself.  
  
"Uhtred"  
  
He says his name even before he open his eyes. He reproaches himself for his weakness. The dane's name has sounded like a plea. The lack of response upsets him even more. Uhtred does not respond. His hand grips the cloth covering his belly. There is no point in prolonging the wait any longer. He must be able to face reality. Whatever it is.  
  
Alfred opens his eyes. Light and colors fill his senses. The hut is exactly the same as the night before. No sign of looting, that's good. His eyes eagerly wander the place until he notices it. Sitting there, in a corner of the place, is the dane that has given him so many headaches. His face is tilted downward and judging from his posture he too has succumbed to sleep.  
  
The mixed feelings: satisfaction, relief and tenderness are so intense that for a moment he is perplexed. He had never felt anything like it for someone who was not a member of his family. Never had such strong feelings been awakened in him for another man.  
  
For several minutes, Alfred remains there simply pondering why did he find himself repeatedly giving opportunities to this dane he barely knew. Why couldn't he conceive the idea of his abandonment?  
  
Alfred was a smart man. After examining his feelings carefully, he reaches the logical conclusion. His first instinct is to deny it. In no way could he, a Christian king, be in love with another man. The idea was blasphemous and ridiculous.  
  
No. That was not the way.

Denying what was happening to him would not make it go away. He had already learned his lesson with his carnal tastes for the girls of the kingdom. He had tried to deny his sinful desires to no avail. No, that was not the way.  
  
His gaze is focused again on the figure of the sleeping warrior. The hair partially hiding his face, his parted lips and his vulnerable posture ...  
  
He had to accept what was happening to him in order to be careful with him. He had to know his desire in order to control it, just as he tried to know the Danes to defeat them.  
  
That was the only possible strategy.  
  
“Uhtred.”  
  
The reaction is instantaneous and almost comical. In an instinctive movement the Dane wields his sword against the entrance of the hut. He is still under the influence of sleep so his posture, that tries to be threatening, ends up being somewhat awkward. He stays a few seconds like this looking for invisible enemies until he realizes that it was the king himself who called him.  
  
"Lord, are you okay?" He asks, no doubt to save some of his dignity.  
  
Alfred nods his head. He cannot remove the half smile from his face even if his conscience reproaches him.  
  
“Uhtred, it is necessary to explore the surroundings to get out of this place. I entrust you with this task. When you're ready, gather the men you need. You will leave at sunset.”  
  
*  
  
Something strange happens in Somerset. In that land almost forgotten by the hand of God, it is as if time did not pass. Without the movement and the crowds of the streets of Winchester, without the proper tasks that come with ruling the kingdom, Alfred has a hard time keeping track of the hours in that place.  
  
The king does not take his eyes off the horizon. The reeds barely sway in the summer wind. An eternal present.  
  
"You need not worry, Lord. He will return.”  
  
He is startled. He hadn't noticed Iseult at his side until he heard her voice. Alfred has his doubts. Two days had passed without news from the Dane. The reality that he could be dead or worse, are ideas that he tries to push away without success as the hours go by.  
  
Iseult smiles. There is something about her, he has noticed, that makes her different from the other women he has known. Mistakenly, at first he had misinterpreted his attraction as desire. But now, after what happened with his son, he understands that it's not just about that. Undoubtedly, the pagan queen was a woman of exotic beauty, but her attractiveness did not reside solely in her physical attributes. There was an impossible kindness and courage in her. Iseult had risked her life trying to save the life of the son of the man who wanted her banished. It had been an act of pure altruism and Alfred knows that he will always be in debt. His expression softens as he turns to her.  
  
“Do you believe that?”  
  
Iseult watches him with that look so transparent and, at the same time, so full of mysterious futures.  
  
“Of course, Lord. He would never abandon you.”  
  
*  
  
Reeds tickle his arms and legs as he goes. His feet sink into the mud, his tunic damping with the wetness of the brush. Night has fallen on them.  
  
Being there would be much more pleasant than in the day, if it weren't for the insects. Flocks of mosquitoes try to feed on him as he walks. He hears Leofric protest a few feet away. Alfred feels sorry for him. The warrior had inssisted in accompany him on his night walk.  
  
Since Uhtred had left, he hadn't been able to sleep again. His mind, constantly assaulted by questions that follow him like wasps. If the Dane did not return, he had to be prepared to take further action as soon as possible. Every day they spent in this swamp was one more day of advantage for the Vikings.  
  
He finds himself meditating on the best course of action when a sound to his left stops him. Leofric's reaction is instantaneous. He draws his sword and steps in front of him on an exhale.  
  
The reeds move a few meters from them. The sound of footsteps grows louder. Someone is coming. Alfred looks in the direction of the shacks dimly lit by candlelight. If the Vikings had managed to reach that place they were lost, the warriors that was left was scarce to face them. It is too late to flee.  
  
The pasture opens.  
  
 _Uhtred_  
  
Leofric is in front of him. With shame, he realizes that this is the only thing that stops the sudden urge to hug the Dane as he did with Beocca days before.  
  
He has no time to blame himself for his recklessness. Red. Uhtred is covered in red. Blood? Is it his blood? Is he hurt?  
  
“Lord! We were able to kill the group patrolling this area but they will soon be replaced.”  
  
The Danish is shaken from the recent battle. The blood partially covers his face and much of the fur that covers his chest. His gaze turns nervous to the men who accompany him, one of them is seriously injured.  
  
"We have found the way. We must hurry!"  
  
It is as if the king in Alfred took possession of his person again. He nods his head right away. Give orders to break camp and take care of the wounded.  
  
 _It is not his blood_. He finds himself reflecting on and off as he makes sure everything is ready for their departure.  
  
While talking to Aelswith and Beocca about the news.  
  
 _He is not injured. It is not his blood._  
  
While giving the order for everyone to collect their belongings and prepare for the march.  
  
 _He's back. He has not abandoned me._  
  
*  
  
They advance slowly. The horses' hooves sink into the mud. Although they try to make as little noise as possible so as not to alert enemies, splashes and murmurs from the entourage are inevitable.  
  
The king advances to the forefront. Uthred and Leofric by his side like two jealous guardians. Alfred reviews the events of the previous days. He reflects on how his mind has wandered, no doubt a product of his desperate situation and lack of sleep.  
  
As they ride, he watches at the Dane who advances a few meters ahead, scanning the place. Without a doubt, if they managed to get out of all this alive, Uhtred should be compensated in some way but nothing more. Helping him was part of his oath.  
  
He reproached himself for having seen Uhtred as more than a pawn in the construction of a united England. Uhtred was a godless man, a born Saxon turned Viking. He had to be very careful with him not to get carried away by his sinful and shameful desires.  
  
“Uhtred!”  
  
The Dane turns to see him. The sun through the trees casting lights and shadows on his features.  
  
“Go to the rear. Make sure no one is left behind. I know the way from here.”  
  
Uhtred looks at him in disgust. For a second he thinks he's going to argue with him but he doesn't. He simply sighs, pulling on the reins to make his mare back off.  
  
*  
  
The betrayal of Oda the young and the death of Uhtred's son will leave them emotionally unstable. Betrayal and death appear as dark ghosts that become real. The presence of the other will be the only consolation they will find when words are not enough.  
  
Looking back, perhaps it is these events that also influence subsequent circumstances. Perhaps, deep down both have felt finite and vulnerable and their way of dealing with the distressing reality is by giving free rein to their most forbidden impulses.  
  
Maybe ...   
  
Continued ..


	3. Chapter 3

If he knows anything about war, it is that he prefers to avoid it at all costs. He has never been a man particularly prepared to fight and even if he were, if he did not suffer from such a disabling disease, he would also choose it as a last resort.  
  
Alfred was a man of tactics and strategies. He liked knowing and planning each of the steps he took. Each of the consequences of the decisions he made in his kingdom.  
  
In the case of war, however ...  
  
There were too many loose ends. Too many unforeseen situations. A chaos that was difficult to control. He didn't like it.  
  
His current situation was not the best either. Waiting in that open field awaiting the armies of Wessex left them vulnerable. If his vassals did not appear, staying in this place could lead to death.  
  
The king walks silently around the place. It's his way of testing tempers at camp. His men (his remaining ones) seem to have regained their good spirits a bit. Get out of the wetlands and that eternal status quo, has been a good decision. Now they just have to wait.  
  
He has noticed that during all this time Uhtred has remained close to Iseult. The pagan queen has not left his side since the tragic revelation of his son's passing. Alfred is secretly grateful for that. Days before, he had been too close to that pain so he is relieved that the Dane can find some kind of comfort in her.  
  
*  
  
The armies begin to arrive one afternoon. Slow but incessant, the caravan of men fills the clearing with the sounds of hoofs and footsteps. It is as if somehow, the king reincarnated in him at the vision. Suddenly, the tribulations that had haunted him until the previous day disappear as if they had never existed. His mind clears. Fear and doubts are a thing of the past. The emotion product of hope makes its way into his chest and that is what makes him find the words to motivate his people.  
  
They are his. 

Deserters no longer matter. No. There are only Wessex Guardians in those fields. Men who will leave everything to fight in his name, defending their family and their lands. It is his duty to be a king at their height.  
  
*  
  
The pain in his belly is so intense that it causes him to double over his mount. It pierces him with the force of a lightning. The horse senses his discomfort and fidgets.  
  
“Lord?”  
  
Beocca is by his side. He cannot prevent worry from staining his words even though he is aware that his king hates the pity that others feel for him as a result of his illness. However, this time, Alfred is beyond bothered by the other's question. His attention is focused on the horrible scene he has just witnessed.  
  
The warlord.

The bloody smile widens as he shows what he is grasping with one of his hands.  
  
Iseult's head.  
  
Alfred feels another wave of pain again How could it have happened? How was he so foolish not to leave an adequate guard protecting the camp?  
  
He reproaches himself. For a horrible second he had forgotten who he was up against. Accustomed to Saxon warfare strategies, he would never have imagined that the Danes would take such a cowardly course of action. So unchristian.  
  
It had been a terrible mistake and he will blame himself until the end of his days. He watches Uhtred break through the shield barrier for a few seconds before giving the order to attack. Rage is a shared feeling.  
  
*  
  
Alfred looks around the battlefield. The surviving soldiers cheer and congratulate him. He's focused on the bodies, silently counting them. It was a resounding victory. They have managed to subdue and push back the Viking threat, at least for the moment.  
  
They have won, yes. But at what cost? The corpses of both Danes and Saxons will feed the field. The last rays of light bathe the place that is already beginning to fill with insects and the smell of rot. That vision will reinforce his idea that, as a monarch, war should always be the last resort.  
  
*  
  
Uhtred walks between the tents like a ghost. Pass by the Saxon warriors who are already beginning to celebrate their victory after having mourned their dead. Alcohol begins to circulate through the camp. He also carries alcohol in his hand. A few liters that he hopes, can drown the pain of his loss and give him the mercy of a night without dreams.  
  
Iseult's head presents itself in his mind with the wrenching force of trauma. He has been the culprit. He could not be able to protect her just as he could not prevent the death of his family or his son.  
  
All his losses and failures have been the product of his decisions. Now he can see it clearly. Since the day he left his family to join Alfred, his life has only gone downhill.  
  
He cannot prevent his anger from projecting towards the king. Alfred was also responsible. His manipulations had brought him to his current situation. He had forced him into a doomed marriage. He hadn't recognized his part in Ubba's death. He had pushed him to the circumstance of having to go out to steal to support himself and then forced him to abandon his pagan queen ...  
  
“Uhtred.”  
  
Uhtred closes his eyes. He has felt the presence of the monarch when entering the tent but he does not want to give him the pleasure of aknowledge his presence. He feels furious with him but even more with himself for having allowed that course of events. Helplessness overwhelms him as he thinks that if he had left the king that day while he slept, Iseult would be alive right now.  
  
The king tentatively approaches. His movements speak of the caution learned by reading the body language of men. The pain and tension in Uthred are almost palpable.  
  
The store is dimly lit by the remains of a fire that the Dane hasn't bothered to rekindle.  
  
“Uhtred, I'm very sorry for your loss. She is with God now.”  
  
Uthred smiles. It is a graceless gesture that appears on his face at the other's words. He secretly envies him. The king would always find his answers in his religion.  
  
“His body will be burned according to Viking customs. It will not be buried. Iseult was a Danish, her destiny is not to be with any Christian God.”  
  
Alfred holds his breath, letting the insult to his God pass like the product of the pain of a grieving man. For long minutes, he stays there without saying more.  
  
"I've come here to thank you for your service today." He says after a few moments.  
  
“Wessex is in debt with you. I am in debt. ”He emphasizes,  
  
The words barely leave his lips when Uhtred gives up his tense immobility to be on him. His face inches from his, their bodies almost in contact.  
  
Alfred senses that he is going to hit him. Everything in his posture indicates it. The only thing holding him back is perhaps a hint of rationality hanging by a thread.  
  
His breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling. Alfred remains motionless, waiting, enduring that strange tension that always falls on them when they are together in the same place.  
  
He stays there, holding his gaze. It is not defiance but resignation. This time he is there to hold him, to contain. 

He has sworn not to retaliate. What happens in that tent will not be used against the Danish afterwards. Whatever is said, whatever is done, he swears to himself that it will stay between the two of them. It's the only thing he can do to honor Iseult's memory.  
  
Uthred's eyes fill with emotion that he proves unable to contain. His blue gaze quickly blurs. He closes his eyes, unable to bear the impassive gaze of the king. He can't hit him. Although it is what he wants, what he deserves.  
  
He doesn't feel capable of doing it. He doesn't feel strong enough to see him suffer too.  
  
Suddenly a touch. Just a shy brush on the side of his face. For an instant, his mind misleads him and thinks it is her. That it was all a bad dream. That nothing that happened that day has been true.  
  
He opens his eyes.  
  
It is not she but Alfred who tentatively caresses his face in a gesture so inappropriate for him that it surprises them both. It's as if that shy behavior awakened him.  
  
Uhtred grabs his hand and turns him around with unnecessary roughness. Alfred does not resist, does not try to escape or call his guards. Uhtred hates him a little more for this. For letting what is going to happen finally happen. He hates him for being the one, who is the more rational and wise of the two, the one who allows what has grown between them to finally break free.  
  
The position is uncomfortable. His arm bent back and his body squeezed between the Dane and the nearest table. The king feels the other's breath against the skin of his neck, perceives how his free hand wrinkles the fabric that covers his crotch. He gasps at this, at such a rough caress over such a sensitive area.  
  
Uhtred seems to wake up when he hears him. As if suddenly snapping out of a trance, he pulls back a few inches and releases his arm. Alfred understands. He is giving him a choice. An opportunity to put a stop to that madness that will undoubtedly condemn them.  
  
Alfred is beyond options. In his chest there is a vibrant mixture of feelings, a certainty that he has never had in his life. His gaze seeks Uthred's. He seeks it and finds it.  
  
Everything is a chaotic mess after that. There is no room for caresses. Alfred briefly struggles with his pants to pull them down. Uhtred barely prepares him so the pain is intense for both of them.  
  
The king rests his hands on the table to support himself. He has to bite his own shoulder to stifle the scream that rips through his throat as Uthred penetrates him.  
  
It's brutal. Uhtred melts inside him in furious thrusts. Feel his gasps intermingled with his tears behind him. One of his hands holding his hips and the other holding his belly painfully for balance.  
  
Alfred closes his eyes. Feels the warmth of his own tears running down his cheeks. This is not how it should happen. That what they feel has always too inmese to be able to control and now it has been unleashed in an act that they will no doubt regret.  
  
The king holds himself tightly to the table so as not to fall. The pain in his shoulder distracts him from the fire in his gut.  
  
It's not like that.  
  
It wasn't supposed to be like that ...  
  
He thinks of Iseult. What would she think of what happens between the two. If somehow she always knew about how they felt about each other. Does this act insult her memory or does it serve as a way to ease Uhtred's pain at her loss?  
  
Alfred sees how the drops of his tears leave small wet footprints on the table. It should not be like that. This is not the true form of the feeling they share..but he feels that this is the only true form that can exist in those moments. 

Their relationship is doomed. Pain and punishment is what they deserve.  
  
He feels Uhtred come inside him with one last thrust so strong it shifts the table.  
  
He's not entirely sure what happens next. He can only perceive that he is trembling, that his legs, his hands, his whole body is trembling and he cannot control it. He puts his clothes back on in an unconscious gesture, his gaze nervously scanning the entrance to the tent. 

In that moment, he is again conscious of his surroundings, of the sounds around him. The muffled voices of the warriors on the field, the sound of his own heavy breathing mingling with each other's.  
  
He looks for Uhtred. There is something strange about him. Uhtred looks at his hands as if he suddenly doesn't recognize himself. Alfred feels terror rise to his throat. The repercussions of what they have just done are present in his mind, generating a sharp vertigo.  
  
"You will not mention what happened here." He hears himself said and is surprised that his words do not reflect anything of his internal shock.  
  
Uhtred nods his head before frantically moving around the tent. Alfred sees him take his sword, some belongings ..  
  
 _He leaves._ _  
  
_ _We have won. His service is over ..._ _  
_  
 _He leaves .._

He is suddenly aware of the pain in his body. The exhaustion from the recent battle becomes one with what they just did. The pain of losses becomes a solid weight on his chest. He discovers that he feels infinitely tired.  
  
“Lord?”  
  
Uthred stops his exit. He has heard the voice of the king say his name. Holds his belongings against his body. He does not feel able to think clearly so he uses his touch to keep in touch with reality. Uhtred feels like sailing in a sea of confusion. What just happened?  
  
“Stay”  
  
It's him. It is Alfred who is speaking to him this time and not the king. He is the man who has confessed his insecurities, who has entrusted him with his kingdom and his son. He sees him there incredibly vulnerable.  
  
The shadow of bitterness is briefly reflected in his thoughts. He could leave in that instant. He owes him nothing. His debt is paid. He has given him everything.

Leave him there, alone, clutching his belly, it is perhaps what he deserves. What they both deserve. The punishment for their mistakes.  
  
He can´t. He's not that kind of person. He can't do that to him.  
  
Uhtred returns to his side as he will so many more times in the future. He notices that the king trembles, that one of his hands rests firmly on the table to support his body.  
  
His actions contrast so much with what they just experienced minutes ago that Alfred feels that he is not the same person. Uhtred puts his arms around him very slowly. With marked gentleness his hands rest on his tunic and he draws him slightly against himself.  
  
Alfred closes his eyes wrapped in a warmth that he should reject. He feels holded and protected in a way that he cannot quite assimilate. Why must it be a sin?  
  
Uhtred melts into the embrace they share. The strong need of protecting him seems to subside for an instant. This is the way it should be.  
  
*  
  
The morning spreads gently across the countryside. A light mist covers the ground partially hiding death.  
  
Uhtred walks among the fallen warriors saying goodbye to those who have been his battle companions. He finds Leofric partially buried under other bodies. He watches him for a moment. He no longer feels capable of feeling any more pain.

It is a small consolation that at least he has died a death worthy of what he was. Instead Iseult ..  
  
“Uhtred.”  
  
Beocca approaches with uncertain steps. The cross swaying on his chest. He seems exhausted.  
  
“The king requests your presence.”  
  
Uthred takes one last look at his good friend Leofric, then nods his head.  
  
“I'm proud of you, boy. You are worthy of what you have been taught” Confesses the father, no doubt in an attempt to comfort.   
  
He would love to be able to feel worthy of his words, being able to proudly receive the gratitude he has heard from the Saxons since it was all over. But victory tastes like ashes.  
  
*  
  
The king's voice has its usual cadence, soft but firm. As the other tells him about Guthrum's baptism ceremony that will take place that morning, Uhtred can't stop staring at his hands. Alfred has them clasped in front of his body. From time to time, his thumb caresses the back of his hand in an unconscious gesture.  
  
"Your service in Wessex is over, Uhtred. What you do from now on is your decision.”  
  
Uhtred turns his attention to his face without understanding.  
  
 _Stay_  
  
The night before, Alfred had asked him to stay. This is what he had believed and this is what he would do if it was Alfred and not the king who asked him. But now..  
  
"Without a doubt, your sword would be very useful in Wessex ..."

The king continues, sensing his confusion. His words are spoken slowly with meticulousness. As if he had thought deeply about them before verbalizing them.

“But ..”  
  
A pause. A pause that lasts less than a second but that becomes infinitely large, being able to reveal a vestige of the king's true feelings.  
  
“I am able to understand that your destiny is another.”  
  
He says this in that way so sure of himself. So in control of everything that happens inside him.  
  
Uhtred sees it. Sees what his speech hides. Alfred is giving him a chance the same way he gave him a chance the night before. He knows for a fact that the king is quite capable of ordering his stay in Wessex. He is capable of manipulating him or even holding him by force.  
  
He knows that freedom is a gift too great coming from him. That it goes against the best interests of his kingdom. Which is a direct reflection of the deep feeling they share for each other.  
  
*  
  
Alfred watches him leave from the bank of the river where Guthrum is baptized. For a brief moment, he has longed for Uthred to choose to stay. Stay by his side even knowing the torment that this implied for both of them.  
  
Watching him walk away hurts him, but at the same time brings him deep relief. At least, one of the two has been able to make that decision.  
  
*  
  
Uthred closes his eyes. Leaving Alfred opens a void inside him but staying is not an option either.  
  
He had believed that he was no longer capable of feeling pain.  
  
Uthred urges his horse into a gallop. He needs to get away as quickly as possible.  
  
From death ..  
  
From Wessex ...  
  
From Alfred ..

He must gallop fast or he might regret having left.  
  
End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm exhausted. Writing, editing and translating prove to be hard work but it totally worthed it. You made me feel very accompanied. Thank you very much for your lovely comments, kudos and hits! Until next time!♥

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so sorry if you find mistakes! You can find me in Tumblr as Sierra Roo


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